


Taliasin Towers:  A Gothic Story

by Heather_Night



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gaslighting, Gothic, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV Derek, POV Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 00:28:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8423665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heather_Night/pseuds/Heather_Night
Summary: Stiles appeared to be taking wing as the torn material flapped behind him.  He resembled a picture Derek had once seen of Archangel Michael, weapon in hand, charging into battle.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just in time to celebrate Halloween...please find yet another entry for my bid in Hurt/Comfort Blackout Bingo and it's my attempt at a good old fashioned Gothic romp.

Stiles admired the keystone over the massive entrance. The wedge-shaped stone piece at the apex of the arch bore a triple spiral exhibiting rotational symmetry. It was the Hale family coat of arms.

Taliasin Towers was absolutely magnificent and Stiles knew he could lose himself in its architectural wonders for months. However, he had a job to do and he had best get on with it.

Before Stiles could ring the bell pull next to the wood and wrought iron structure, the door whipped open revealing a comely blond.

Startled, Stiles jumped back, a less than manly squeak emerging from his mouth.

“Good evening. I’m—” Stiles began his introduction before the blond woman cut him off.

“I know who you are,” she frowned, cutting off his greeting. “Follow me.” 

The woman seemed familiar to Stiles but although he had a better than average memory for both names and faces, he couldn’t place the young woman.

Charming. Stiles followed the full hips encased in a tight dress as the woman, name unknown, sashayed down the entranceway into a grand hallway. Eyes darting around, Stiles tried not to stare like a country bumpkin.

“When you’re done, use the servants’ stairs,” the woman rapped out sharply as the walked across the black and white tiles, plunging toward the back of the structure. Stiles followed her up a staircase, down a hallway and into a sitting room. Apparently even the servant quarters were grand.

Pointing to the settee against the wall, the woman poured the amber colored drink from a decanter sitting on a gorgeous cherry wood side table. Stiles accepted the crystal glass and sniffed the drink with appreciation before he sank carefully into the cushions. He would most definitely not feel slighted using the servants’ stairs if the rest of his treatment included comfortable quarters and exotic drinks.

“The master will be in shortly. Drink that and make yourself ready,” the woman ordered before frowning heavily again.

If it wasn’t for the frowning and ordering, Stiles might have found her to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was voluptuous in body with big brown eyes and artfully arranged hair but the cold look in her eyes was off-putting. Not that Stiles would ever deign to think he had a chance with one such as she.

Stiles set the glass down on the coaster before him, not wanting to mar the beauty of the fine workmanship of the matching cherry wood coffee table. Rising to his feet he pulled off his outer coat, smoothing it carefully over a chair in the corner. At least when the woman told him to make himself ready, he assumed she meant he should take his greatcoat off. His bags had been sent on ahead and he wished he could freshen up before his meeting with Master Hale but he made do with smoothing his windblown hair from his face and straightening his vest.

Picking up the glass, he sipped at the liquid. It had an unexpected tang but Stiles found the spiciness soothing. It actually went down smoothly, unlike the whiskey his father drank. He tried to pace himself but the glass was empty in mere minutes. Stiles roamed around the room, inspecting the furnishings, trying to work off some of his nervous energy.

Stiles couldn’t wait to look at the grand library. He hadn’t been trained in library science formally but Satomi Ito in San Francisco had assured him he was up to the task. He would have unlimited access to a great private library and he could earn money towards furthering his education. Stiles was giddy with excitement.

No, Stiles was dizzy. Maybe the drink was a bit stronger than he had anticipated.

Stiles set the glass down carefully on the table before sitting back down. The room spun alarmingly.

Maybe the lack of sleep and travel was catching up to Stiles.

Leaning back against the pillows, Stiles closed his eyes.

Maybe if he rested for a moment he would feel more himself.

-0-

Derek entered the house through the kitchen, hoping to avoid contact with his pack.

No such luck as Erica stood before him, arms crossed tightly over heaving breasts, glaring at him. “I put your whore in the Gold Room on the second floor,” she announced, sneering.

“I don’t,” Derek began to deny he didn’t know what she was talking about but she had already turned her back on him and left the room.

The lack of respect was beyond outrageous and Derek planned to address it after he changed out of his riding clothes and had something to eat. 

Someone almost silently entered the kitchen. Isaac. He had been working on his stealth and had actually come a long way but he was smirking at Derek. Here was yet another pack member apparently in need of a lesson in respect. That is what Derek deserved for turning teenagers.

Isaac cleared his throat. “Don’t forget, Satomi’s man will be here about the library,” the curly haired young man began.

Derek zoned out, ignoring Isaac’s words, as he thought about Satomi Ito. She was another one prone to picking up strays. It was surprising that she had suggested a human for Derek’s library project but Satomi was affiliated with the University in San Francisco and as such came into contact with all sorts of types. She had been his mother’s best friend and Derek trusted her judgment.

When he realized Isaac had stopped speaking, Derek looked up and found Isaac staring at him, head cocked.

Derek said nothing further and Isaac shrugged, walking away.

That left one member of his pack left to run into this evening. At least Boyd didn’t usually show disdain toward Derek. At least not out loud although Derek oftentimes felt the silent judgment rippling off of the large man.

Shaking off his thoughts, Derek began unbuttoning his shirt as he headed for his room. A sweet scent caught his nose as he passed by the Gold Room and Derek remembered Erica saying something about putting a whore in that room.

Derek hadn’t made any arrangements for this evening but every once and again his contact in the village took it upon himself to send someone to Derek.

The scent was exquisite. Vanilla, honey and cinnamon made his nose twitch. 

Expecting to see a blond, Derek halted when he saw the brown soft looking strands of hair against the gold of the pillows. The young man was pale with spots on his face and neck and Derek’s wolf itched to see if those appealing spots appeared elsewhere on what appeared to be a comely body. 

Derek made his way to the settee and knelt down next to the sleeping young man. An empty glass with the dregs of the drugged liquid used to relax his paramours sat on the table.

The drug not only made his lovers pliable so Derek wouldn’t accidentally hurt them in his shifted state but it also made them forget details of what transpired afterward. Derek only took people to his bed who had freely given consent beforehand. Derek made certain the man in the village who arranged for this, along with his lovers, were well recompensed for the services rendered. His wolf was insatiable and Derek was able to keep it calm through these actions.

Fingers yearned to undo the buttons on the vest so Derek shifted the young man from where he was curled up fetchingly on the pillows until he was spread out on his back. Derek quickly divested the young man of his vest and shirt.

Somnophilia did not appeal so Derek took the surprisingly firm biceps in his hands and shook the young man. Whiskey colored eyes blinked into view and Derek lost himself for a moment, entranced.

“You’re pretty,” the young man said, pink lips curving into a smile.

“So are you,” Derek responded, also smiling.

Derek’s fingers found the fly of the wool pants adorning slim hips and quickly pushed the buttons through the holes to expose the cream colored drawers.

His hand ghosted under the rough fabric, seeking and finding the silky thatch of hair and then the true prize nestled beneath.

The young man squirmed in his arms. “That feels good.”

“I can make you feel better,” Derek announced. He swept the beguiling young man into his arms and swiftly carried him through the doors into the bedroom. He launched the man on to the bed, relishing in the giggles that fled the full lips.

Derek stripped the man of all of his clothing before doing the same. When the slim body, taller than Derek had first thought, launched into his arms, Derek squeezed him tight.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” the breathy voice sighed into his ear.

Leaning over, Derek found the special oil he kept in a drawer and quickly set about preparing the man’s passage.

The body in his arms tensed and Derek feared the man had changed his mind but the salty tang of ejaculate filled the air. The young man was full of surprises.

His lover leaned heavily into him but Derek’s wolf was bursting to the fore, easily allowing him to manipulate the body into position.

It took great strength but Derek was able to get his claws to recede. His face followed suit. With the full use of his hands, Derek petted and squeezed the armful he held. His own body shuddered its release without contact.

Once Derek caught his breath he began to squeeze and fiddle with the young man’s nipples. Small intakes of breath, happy sighs, and flexing muscles told Derek his lover was pleased with the attention.

When the long cock lying against the slim, pale thigh began to fill once again, Derek let his fingers wander downward.

Everything was exquisite. Smell, feel and when Derek brought the finger he’d been using to smear beads of moisture collected from the cockhead he held up to his mouth, even taste. Derek wanted more and so did his wolf.

“I want you to sit astride me and ride me like a horse,” Derek whispered into the delicate shell of the man’s ear. He could imagine his lover trembling in his arms as he sat aside Derek’s lap, bouncing up and down.

“Oh, yes,” his lover sighed, snuggling closer.

If the evening continued in this same vein, Derek thought he might see about keeping the young man for his lover. He had never contemplated this before, not since his last relationship had soured, but this body was heavenly.

Derek’s wolf gamboled happily, practically dancing in place.

When the body splayed across his chest, shivered, Derek reached out and brought the edge of the quilt over to enfold them both.

When the young man in his arms sighed throatily, Derek’s cock erupted, delight spreading through his whole body.

Derek could get used to this.

A light knock on the outer door brought Derek out of his happy daze.

“What is it, Boyd?” he growled although it was his own grumble, not that of his wolf.

“I believe the young man in your presence is the librarian,” his pack member whispered back. 

Drat.

-0-

Stiles stretched out, squinting against the brightness, trying to sink back into elusive sleep. He’d had the oddest dream about riding a horse. Stiles hadn’t been on horse since he was young child when he’d been thrown, resulting in a broken arm.

Wait.

His eyelids snapped open and he studied the room.

This wasn’t his room.

He didn’t remember being shown the room.

He didn’t remember anything with clarity after falling asleep on the settee after drinking that marvelous liquid.

A knock on his door startled him. “I have your breakfast tray,” a deep voice announced.

Stiles yanked the bedclothes up, relieved he was in a nightshirt. He wasn’t exactly dressed for receiving but when his stomach grumbled loudly, he acknowledged he would feel more able to deal with his circumstances on a full stomach. “Thank you, please come in,” he replied. 

A tall, dark skinned man stepped into room and set a tray down upon a side table. “My name is Boyd.”

“Thank you, Boyd. I’m Stiles,” he said as he slipped from between the sheets, yanking the nightshirt down to cover his legs more modestly. He put his hand out to shake the other’s hand.

Boyd frowned at the hand then frowned into Stiles’s face. Stiles stubbornly kept his hand out and the other man finally took it, giving it one hard squeeze before releasing it. Perhaps the man was shy. Or maybe he didn’t like humans.

“May I ask what happened?” Stiles inquired, gesturing around the room, hoping the other man could explain how he came to be ensconced in this room.

“I understand you took sick last night. Master Derek saw to your comfort and brought you to your room,” he answered in a grave tone but a twinkle in his eye showed he found some amusement in the situation.

“Good grief, did I get drunk?” Stiles gasped. This was not how he wanted to begin his affiliation at Taliasin Towers.

“I believe you were overtired from the exertions, ahem,” Boyd cleared his throat, “of the day.”

How very odd. Stiles had been well rested when he began his day of travel, excited to reach his destination and meet the man engaging his services.

“The bathroom is through those doors. After you’ve had something to eat and are ready, please use the bell pull and I’ll show you to the library. I’m sure you’re, um, excited to begin your new duties here,” the other man said before excusing himself.

Boyd seemed nice enough although he certainly wasn’t voluble like Stiles. He much preferred this interaction from the one he’d had with the blond woman last night.

Stiles sank on to the edge of the comfortable bed, mortified his first introduction to Master Hale had gone awry. At least he still seemed to have a job.

After picking through the more than generous servings of porridge, eggs and ham, and eating a small sample, Stiles explored the bathroom. His dad’s small cottage favored an outhouse and using the running water and indoor plumbing was beyond decadent. He couldn’t wait to tell Scott about his adventures although he thought he might edit out the part about Stiles falling asleep before meeting his benefactor.

Dressed in clean and serviceable clothing, face and teeth scrubbed, Stiles pulled the bell.

Stepping into the hallway, he smiled as Boyd appeared. “The library is in the east rotunda overlooking the ocean. I’ll show you to it and then I’m sure you’d like to take the measure of the job,” he said, strides long, as he moved to the staircase.

“Will I be meeting with Master Hale?” Stiles asked, blushing furiously.

“He was suddenly called away on business but he said to tell you that you may sort the library as you see fit, as long as you bring some sort of organization to it,” Boyd explained, tone bored.

No one of his acquaintanceship save Miss Martin held an interest in books quite like Stiles. He enjoyed losing himself equally in tales of fiction and dissertations on facts and reality. 

It took quite a bit of walking and Stiles tried to commit their journey to memory but finally Stiles was in the library. The windows were massive, the view unparalleled, but it was the treasures inside that held Stiles’s full attention.

Row after row of shelves filled with books spilled across the room. There was even a loft overlooking the main floor, also filled with the books.

Stiles heard Boyd instruct him regarding the bell for lunch but Stiles could barely murmur his acknowledgement, so enraptured by the haven he found himself in.

Mr. Melvil Dewey had published something on a new library classification system and unless Stiles missed his mark, he would be able to employ it here.

A desk held blank papers and, much to Stiles’s wonderment, the new invention called fountain pens. Stiles grabbed one of each and began making notes, stepping into the stacks of books occasionally to study their contents.

The light in the large room shifted but Stiles continued to focus on the task at hand. A foldable library ladder pushed up against a wall caught his attention after he had paced through the whole spaced and Stiles clambered up it to view the contents on the uppermost shelf. His fingers ghosted over the bindings. _The Mysteries of Udolpho,_ by Radcliffe, _Frankenstein,_ by Shelley and, _gasp_ , a first edition _The Castle of Otranto._

Stiles pulled the book out, fingers lovingly touching the spine of the book. He was definitely in heaven. He ought to be paying Master Hale for this opportunity instead of receiving payment.

The library door banged open and Stiles, startled, had to grab the shelf lest he fall. The book threatened to tumble from his grip and his balance was precarious but he had almost righted himself when a baritone voice boomed out, “What the devil!”

Stiles lost the fight to stay aright and plunged toward the hardwood floor, the book falling from his grasp. Instead of crashing into the unforgiving surface, he met something of almost equal strength—the arms of the pleasant voiced stranger cushioning his fall.

A shoulder to his solar plexus left Stiles gasping for breath. Both men, and it was assuredly a man Stiles found himself lying atop, tumbled to the ground but Stiles was saved from certain injury, or worse, the aforementioned trip to heaven, by the fast action of the stranger trapped beneath his weight.

Wanting to thank the stranger and inquire after his health, Stiles opened his mouth but only a wheeze emerged.

The man gently rolled him over and helped him to sit up. “Are you okay?” the man inquired and when Stiles was unable to answer promptly, he began brushing his hands with familiarity over Stiles’s body, coming to rest with his palms cupping Stiles’s face.

It was most embarrassing and Stiles felt a flush of deep shame overcome him. The shame was accompanied by dizziness and Stiles swooned forward, into the hard muscled chest of his savior.

“Boyd!” the man bellowed and Stiles winced at the sudden noise. He tried to gain the other man’s attention to let him know he was fine but before he could do so, the man stood up, taking Stiles with him.

Gray shapes swirled over Stiles’s vision and he told himself he would just rest a moment. 

Stiles became aware of his surroundings in increments. His hand touched the soft surface he was lying atop and he surmised he was on leather. A damp cloth was draped over his forehead. He groaned his embarrassment, his hand finding the cloth to pull it away, levering up on an elbow, as he blinked his eyes open. 

Stiles found himself face to face with the most handsome man he’d ever laid eyes upon.

The man had hair so dark it bordered on black, waving around his face in pleasant disarray. Bright, beautiful hazel eyes stared from beneath dark, masculine brows. The sculpted cheeks were well coated with the beginnings of a beard but Stiles could still make out a cleft in the chin that he found beguiling. 

“Steady now,” the baritone voice cautioned him. A strong hand touched his back, the attached arm cradling him close.

“I beg your pardon. I didn’t cause you injury did I?” Stiles at last found his voice. He was a bit breathless but he hoped the other man would assume it was from his fall and not from looking upon such masculine beauty.

“Not at all. I apologize for startling you,” the man said, his attention moving to someone entering the library. “Thank you, Boyd.”

The man next to him accepted a glass, which he promptly pressed to Stiles’s lips, bidding him drink. 

Boyd appeared over the unknown man’s shoulder. “I see you’ve made the acquaintance of Master Derek Hale.” Boyd’s lips twitched but he kept the rest of his face impassive.

Stiles lowered the glass, his eyes remaining downcast. “I apologize for my unorthodox greeting, Master Hale.”

Fingers tilted his chin up. “So I am to take it you usually don’t fling yourself off of ladders upon a first meeting?” Hazel eyes sparkled with humor. 

“I generally save that for the second meeting,” Stiles quipped back. The other man seemed to be at great pains to put him at ease and Stiles was grateful. He put out his hand, formally introducing himself, “I am Stiles Stilinski, at your service.”

“Pleased to make your official acquaintance. I take it Stiles is a nickname?” Derek asked, his face still startling close to his own.

“The appellation from my parents is a bit of a tongue-twister so I have commandeered Stiles as my given name. Please trust me when I say calling me Stiles is in everyone’s best interest,” Stiles rambled on.

“Please call me Derek,” the other man invited. “Apparently you missed luncheon and tea. Can I tempt you with dinner?” 

Stiles was afraid Derek could tempt him with anything.

A sudden thought occurred to Stiles. “Oh!”

“Oh?” Derek echoed, concern in his voice.

“No wonder I’m dizzy. Yes, please, I would love to dine now,” Stiles announced. His stomach gurgled unbecomingly. He’d missed dinner last night, only picked at his breakfast this morning…no wonder he was weak. It was embarrassing but at least he knew the cause of his frailty.

Derek took the glass from Stiles and handed it to Boyd. “I’d best keep you close to me then. Shall we?” The gorgeous man asked, straightening and then crooking his elbow out as an invitation.

Stiles swung his legs to the floor. He pushed to his full height, pleased that it was of a similar one to Derek, but he was unable to enjoy the moment as the dizziness became pervasive.

“Boyd, could you please have a tray brought to the library?” Derek requested. “Stiles and I will be dining here I think.”

In short order Stiles found himself sitting back on the couch, this time his head bent over his lap, a gentle hand at the back of his neck.

“Better?” the soft voice inquired.

“Indeed,” Stiles responded.

Stiles sat up with caution. The library still had a gray tinge to it and Stiles closed his eyes to collect himself.

Derek pushed Stiles down on to the couch with a tender touch.

“I’ll put this on the table,” a female voice announced.

“Thank you, Erica,” Derek answered.

Erica. 

Stiles’s eyelids flew upward. “You’re from Beacon Hills.”

“Yes, Stiles, I am. I didn’t think you recognized me yesterday,” the blond huffed.

Stiles had always wondered what had happened to the blond girl from school who had suffered from fits. “It’s nice to see you again.”

Erica gave Stiles a smile that seemed genuine and her tone was kind. “You, too. Although I hear it’s inadvisable to go swanning off of high places,” she teased.

Stiles crinkled his nose. “I couldn’t agree with you more.”

“Come on, let’s see if we can try this again,” Derek broke into the conversation, frowning.

The other man curled an arm around Stiles’s shoulders and lifted him upward. It took a moment for things to stop swirling and then Stiles saw Erica hand Derek a piece of bread.

Derek offered it up to Stiles’s lips.

Chagrined with his persistent weakness, Stiles nevertheless accepted the bread.

It was still warm and soft and perhaps the best thing he’d tasted. “Delicious!” he announced before taking another bite from the hunk Derek held out to him.

Erica actually blushed. Surprisingly, it seemed as though Master, Hale—no, Derek—did as well.

“Thank you for the tray, Erica. I’ll call you when we’re ready for the next course,” Derek announced.

Once the bread was gone, and it took all of Stiles’s willpower not to lick Derek’s fingers for crumbs, Stiles began to feel better.

Except for his ass. Things were a bit tender down there. He shifted on the couch.

Derek’s face filled with concern. “Did you hurt yourself after all?”

“No. At least I don’t think so. My posterior seems to be a bit sore,” Stiles acknowledged ruefully. This was not at all the meeting Stiles had envisioned with his new employer.

There was no mistaking the slight flush that heightened Derek’s sharp cheekbones. “I see,” he said.

Stiles was mesmerized as Derek took his hand between his own, chafing it lightly.

Derek cleared his throat and Stiles switched his attention from his pale limb being stroked between olive-hued hands to stare into hazel eyes. They seemed to be more green than any other color at the moment.

Miraculously the pain ebbed from Stiles’s posterior.

“I think I can stand now, if you’ll allow it,” Stiles said. As much as we would enjoy staring at the captivating man before him he didn’t think it would help his status here.

“Yes, that sounds like a grand idea,” Derek said and he pulled Stiles to his feet, keeping his arm wrapped around Stiles’s waist.

The two made their way to the table where Erica had spread out a veritable feast.

Derek seated Stiles with the utmost care before taking his place across the table. Stiles kept his hands in his lap as Derek filled his plate. Only Derek handed the plate over to Stiles. “Please, I think you’ll enjoy the roast.”

It was a little pinker than Stiles preferred but it, paired with the mashed potatoes and gravy, was divine.

“Did you sleep well last night, Stiles?” Derek inquired.

Stiles had hoped they were past such niceties but he played along. “Indeed. I had an odd dream about horseback riding though.”

Derek sputtered and choked on a mouthful of wine.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asked, concerned for the other man’s health.

Dabbing at his mouth with a linen napkin, Derek waved off his concern. “I’m fine.”

Neither man made mention of the fact Stiles had been carried to his bed. Stiles, having made a fool of himself repeatedly in Derek’s presence already, was grateful for the reprieve.

“What do you think of the library?” Derek asked, seeming content to wile away his dinner with his new employee.

“Did you know you have a first edition of _The Castle of Otranto?_ ” That’s when Stiles remembered he had dropped the book. 

Stiles bolted to his feet but Derek lashed out, “Sit down, Stiles.”

Without forethought, Stiles found himself doing Derek’s bidding. “My apologies, sir.” Stiles kept his head down and stared at his half empty plate. He felt suitably chastised.

“Stiles, please look at me,” Derek commanded even though he was polite in his phrasing.

Stiles reluctantly looked up. Derek smiled benignly at him. “The book is safe. I rescued it after I rescued you.”

Pink swept over his face again. Just when he thought he couldn’t be more embarrassed, something topped it. 

Derek’s smile widened. “I take it you’ve read it?”

“I haven’t read the original, first edition. The title even reads _The Castle of Otranto, A Story. Translated by William Marshal, Gent. From the Original Italian of Onuphrio Muralto, Canon of the Church of St. Nicholas at Otranto._ Stiles rhapsodized but when Derek silently stared at him, he clammed up.

“Please, don’t stop,” Derek said, softly.

“You couldn’t possibly be interested in my musings on first edition publications,” Stiles pulled his attention away from Derek’s pretty eyes. 

“On the contrary. Why do you think I engaged your services to restore the library? I love to read and I can’t possibly find anything in this mess,” he gestured around the room.

Stiles wanted to push for details, find out why the library had fallen into such disrepair, but he couldn’t face the repercussions if Derek didn’t take kindly to his brand of curiosity. Stiles had run off more than one acquaintance by being overly familiar and this, sitting here dining and conversing with Derek, was the most fun and excitement Stiles had enjoyed in years.

A knock on the door interrupted Stiles’s reverie. Erica entered, bearing a tray with plates heaped with fruit cobbler that made saliva flood Stiles’s mouth. “Your dessert.”

Derek scowled at the blond but didn’t say anything, accepting the plate she handed him.

“Dinner was delicious,” Stiles complimented the cook, unsure if Erica had prepared dinner or someone else.

Erica eyed his partially full plate and responded with a raised eyebrow.

“I apologize for not doing it justice. Sometimes I get distracted and forget to eat,” Stiles explained.

“So I’ve noticed,” Derek murmured. He switched his attention to Erica. “Thank you. Dinner was delicious.”

Erica gathered the plates and removed herself from the premises. She threw a wink over her shoulder that made Stiles laugh.

“You like Erica?” Derek’s tone was gruff and his face was devoid of emotion.

“I went to school with Erica. It’s nice to see her feeling so well,” Stiles commented, frowning a bit at Derek’s attitude.

Maybe the staff weren’t supposed to interact with the Lord of the Manor. No, that didn’t seem correct seeing as Derek talked to Boyd just fine. Maybe it was because Erica was a female?

“Eat your dessert,” Derek ordered and Stiles found himself falling in with the dictate.

Stiles managed to clear his plate, licking the sticky sweet juice from his fork. The library was completely silent save for his scraping and licking and once again Stiles blushed.

“I apologize. My manners are surely lacking,” Stiles offered.

The other man answered, smiling so his large front teeth were visible. “I find you utterly charming.”

Perhaps Derek was making fun of Stiles. Peeking from beneath a sweep of eyelashes, Stiles chanced a glance.

No. His employer seemed serious.

A yawn cracked Stiles’s jaw, taking him by surprise. “I apologize.”

“Stiles, you have had a long day. I think it’s time you turn in. Perhaps we can dine again tomorrow?” Derek suggested.

“I would very much enjoy that,” Stiles answered.

The day had started on an off note but had things had turned around nicely.

-0-

Derek found himself making his excuses for another missed dinner. He found himself thoroughly entranced with Mr. Stilinski and his wolf was becoming insistent they do something about the attraction.

Stiles was smart, self deprecating and silly by turns, sweet and he smelled as good as he looked which was to say he was utterly bewitching.

Erica’s arms were crossed over her bosom. “You cannot possibly be serious. Stiles thinks he said or did something to upset you and you are going to continue avoiding him?”

“He said that?” Derek questioned. He would never want to hurt Stiles a purpose.

“Stiles did not have to say it, it is written clearly upon his face and body every time I let him know you are unable to join him. His shoulders slump, his head goes down, and he frowns. Those lips are not made for frowning, Derek!” Erica scowled up at Derek.

Derek gripped Erica’s upper arms with his hands, staring down into her eyes. “I feel too much for him. What if my wolf sends him running away in fear?”

Erica’s scowl melted into a soft smile. “Oh, Derek, Stiles is not so easily frightened. When I suffered from my fits he was one of the few students who did not run away or make fun of me. Do not underestimate him.”

“Oh, pardon me,” a deep voice piped up from the doorway. “I did not mean to intrude.”

Stiles.

Despair wafted through the air but before Derek could compose himself, Stiles hastened from the room.

Derek’s hands fisted at his sides. His wolf began to paw, eager to give chase.

“You should go to him, Derek. Explain to him,” Erica suggested.

Derek shook his head. “I cannot. I am going for a ride.”

“Coward!” Erica called after him.

-0-

Stiles pounding up the stairs and darted into his room, closing the door carefully before leaning his weight up against it.

He had misread the signs.

Master Hale had feelings for another.

Stiles gave free rein to the tears welling in his eyes. They dripped down his face and his nose began to run. He was a mess, both inside and out.

After the torrent of tears had passed, Stiles straightened. Master Hale was not the first person Stiles had fixed his attentions upon only to have his heart broken. It would not be easy but he would put this sorry episode behind him.

“Stiles?” Erica’s voice sung out.

He ignored her, stepping into the bathroom to wash his face.

When he emerged from the bathroom he moved toward the side table to retrieve the first edition _Castle of Otranto_.

Only it wasn’t on the side table.

Stiles whirled around, looking for the priceless book. If he had misplaced it he would lose his position and with it, any chance he had of continuing on at the university.

There, on the chimney mantle, Stiles located a book. book.

His heart continued to thunder in his chest, making Stiles weak. He had left the book on the side table. He would never leave the fragile pages of a beloved book close to a fire.

“Stiles, I know you are in there. May I please come in?” Erica coaxed.

Stiles knew he must look a sight but he did not appreciate the way Erica gasped when he opened the door. She pushed into the room, linking her arm around one of his, pulling him toward the bed where she pushed down into a seated position. “You are mistaken about what you saw downstairs in the kitchen.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Stiles kept his face downturned. “It doesn’t matter. I am here to do a job and nothing more.”

“That is a lie,” Erica stated resolutely as she sat on his bed next to him

“Pardon me?” Stiles gaped at her. It was most improper for her to invite herself into his bedchamber and join him on his bed.

“I know you have feelings for Derek,” the blond continued. She elbowed him un-gently when he remained silent. Stiles turned and glared at her but his lower lip wobbled.

“Are you daft, Stiles? He returns your feelings,” she announced, smacking him in the chest.

“Ow!” Stiles exclaimed as he rubbed the developing bruise. “And yet he avoids me.”

“You are quite a pair, I will grant you that,” Erica wrinkled her nose, frowning. “You know what you need to do?”

Stiles shook his head, staring at the woman, wondering why she was speaking of _The love that dare not speak its name_ although love had not come into it yet. This was a very odd household, indeed.

“You need to put yourself in Derek’s path so he cannot avoid you any longer. I have an idea. Can you sit a horse?” Erica probed.

“I cannot,” Stiles confessed.

“I think in the morning you are going to try. Derek will either be impressed or appalled by your actions but at least you will have done something to shake him up,” Erica announced. 

Rising to her feet she turned and looked down upon Stiles. Putting her hands out, she invited him to rise, too. Once he was upon his feet, her gaze took in his visage from the top of his head, sweeping down his body, to his large feet. With a finger to her chin, she seemed to be deep in thought. Her brown eyes sparked mischievously and she proclaimed, “I have just the thing for you to wear. Meet me downstairs in the kitchen and we will dine and then I will prepare you for the morn.”

Stiles, off balance by first his disappointment and then the hope Erica offered, acquiesced to her plans. He considered himself a man of action so he had best try everything possible before giving up on his desires.

-0-

Derek had counted himself lucky that he had been able to slip out of Taliasin Towers undetected so he could commence with his morning ride. He had expected to be waylaid by Erica; it was unlike her to give in to Derek’s wishes graciously and he had anticipated a barrage of reasons why he was being a ninny by avoiding Stiles.

At the thought of the other man, his wolf snarled. Derek was denying it access to Stiles and it was becoming nigh unmanageable.

He gave Camaro his head, the stallion moving from a walk to a trot to a canter. When they emerged at the top of the hill, Camaro gave a burst of speed, galloping across the flat plain. If the horse were unaccustomed to the route he would be worried they would go charging off of the cliff to the crashing waves below but he trusted Camaro to pull up short before they tumbled.

A flash of bright color among the craggy rocks caught Derek’s eye and he reined the galloping horse in, guiding him around so they could circle back and investigate.

Atop a flat outcropping of rock a body reclined in the weak sunshine.

No, not an outcropping but the massive trunk of a once great Oak tree and stretched out upon it was an unmoving Stiles.

Derek draped the reins over Camaro’s neck, dismounting before his stead came to a stop. “Stiles!”

The young man still did not move. He had one arm stretched overhead, draping over the edge of the tree trunk, the other curled over his chest. His legs were splayed apart, the yellow buckskin breeches molding to muscular thighs.

Derek cupped Stiles’s pale cheek, a shock juddering up his spine. Relief spread through him when Stiles’s eyelashes lifted to reveal dazed eyes at the shock inducing touch. 

“Derek?” The young man’s voice was soft and slurred.

“Are you injured?” Derek demanded, hovering over the young man.

Stiles stared up at him but did not move and did not answer.

Unable to stand by, idly, Derek carefully lifted the arm stretched overhead, examining it for injury. Satisfied nothing seemed amiss, Derek’s hands skimmed down Stiles’s torso and legs. The breeches strained over the younger man’s private area and Derek’s wolf scratched, wanted to sniff and nuzzle.

Derek pushed the wolf back, too worried at the moment over Stiles’s uncharacteristic stillness. “Stiles, please, tell me where you hurt,” Derek beseeched.

A hand rose, shaking, touching the soft hair near the back of his head.

Brushing aside the hand, Derek gingerly felt around Stiles’s head, smoothing unruly strands, unhappy when the metallic odor of blood met his nostrils. His fingers confirmed the findings: Stiles was bleeding from the back of his head.

Red smeared the front of the white shirt stretched over the surprisingly wide shoulders where Stiles’s long fingers rested on his chest.

Derek whistled and Camaro trotted over. Sliding an arm behind Stiles’s upper back and the other behind his knees, Derek scooped the younger man into his arms, cradling him carefully to his chest.

Looking down, Derek was surprised to find Stiles’s eyes open. “Roscoe. Is he hurt?”

“The damnable horse is probably back at the stables, taking his breakfast. What on earth possessed you to go a-riding today, by yourself?” Derek admonished.

Stiles’s eyelids fluttered down, shuttering his eyes from view, his head lolling heavily over Derek’s arm.

There was no need for Stiles to answer though as Derek knew quite well what had driven Stiles to an early morning ride—the young man wanted to see Derek.

Carefully mounting Camaro, Derek took a moment to arrange Stiles carefully over his thighs. This was not the horse ride, complete with Stiles on his lap, Derek had envisioned.

Derek urged Camaro homeward, praying the wound on Stiles’s head was not serious.

Boyd and Isaac met him at the doors to the stable, eyes wide. “I require the services of Deaton. Now!”

Isaac scrambled into the stable, emerging, bareback, on one of the Quarter Horses.

Boyd held his arms out to take the burden from Derek’s arms but Derek shook him off; he did not want anyone else touching the young man. He carefully threw his leg over and slid to the ground, all of the time keeping Stiles as steady as he could.

Once Stiles was secure in his arms, Derek ran for the house. Erica whipped the door open, covering her mouth when she saw what he carried. Guilt wafted off of her, making his nose crinkle

“Bring Deaton to my room as soon as he arrives,” he snapped. Derek would deal with Erica later.

Angrily pounding up the staircase, cradling Stiles close to his chest, Derek adjusted his gait when Stiles emitted a soft moan. “Shhh, tis okay. The physician will be here shortly,” Derek crooned as he settled Stiles atop his bed.

Derek retrieved a towel from the bathroom, folding it up and placing it under Stiles’s head. He sank down next to the inert body, hand gently cupping the unconscious man’s face, drawing pain steadily.

Willing the young man to wake up and announce he was fine, Derek’s gut churned as the minutes ticked off of the clock with no discernible change in Stiles’s condition.

“You will overload his senses if you continue to draw his pain,” Deaton chided from the doorway.

Derek withdrew his hand with haste, anxious he had caused the young man in his charge harm.

“Let me look to his injuries,” Deaton said, not unkindly.

The balding, dark-complexioned man dug through his valise, withdrawing all manner of devices. 

Derek found himself chewing on his thumbnail, watching the examination with grave interest.

“Would you please hold him upright so I may attend his wound?” Deaton asked in that well modulated tone of his. 

Pulling the slack torso upward, Derek slid behind Stiles to provide support. His wolf howled its delight at being so close to the young man.

Deaton tipped Stiles’s head forward and assiduously cleaned the blood away, picking detritus from the area before applying an astringent.

Stiles moaned and jerked away from the methodical fingers, head coming to rest against Derek’s shoulder. “Derek?”

“Right here,” he rumbled, thankful Stiles was awake. 

“What happened?” Stiles asked, cringing back into Derek’s arms as Deaton reached for him.

“I am Dr. Deaton and you seem to have suffered a riding mishap. You have a wound at the back of your head I was seeing to it,” the physician calmed his patient.

“I did? That’s right, Roscoe took flight and I lost my seat. Is the horse fit?” Stiles asked as he tried to sit away from Derek’s supportive arms. Derek flexed his biceps, pulling Stiles back more tightly against his chest; Stiles allowed it without fuss.

“More fit than you, I daresay,” Deaton responded, his lips quirking into a slight smile.

“Will Stiles regain his health?” Derek inquired.

“He will. I suggest he rests in bed today and I will leave a tonic for his aches and pains,” Deaton directed at Derek. “As for you, young man, no more gallivanting around on horseback until you learn to sit a horse,” Deaton shook a finger lightly at Stiles but his eyes danced with amusement.

Deaton gathered his equipment, tucking it back into this valise. 

“Thank you, doctor. Let me see you out,” Derek located his manners, getting ready to shift Stiles on to the bed so he could rest.

“No need to trouble yourself, Derek. I will leave the tonic with Erica and see myself out. Good day,” he took his parting.

Stiles cleared his throat. “I apologize for the trouble I have caused.”

“It is I who has need to apologize. My feelings were too intense and I did not want to inflict them upon you so I avoided you,” Derek tried to explain his actions.

Stiles huffed his annoyance. “You have only to tell me to stop pestering you and I will do so. No need to hide away in your own home.”

Derek wished he could see Stiles’s face but he was loath to unwrap his arms from around the pliant body resting against his chest.

“Stiles, you do not understand. I very much enjoy your company,” Derek whispered into the shell of Stiles’s ear, enjoying the shiver he evoked.

“Fine, then. I will say I thought horseback riding would be more pleasurable,” Stiles bemoaned his morning.

Derek’s private area throbbed at other thoughts of horseback riding. More like bareback riding.

“You should rest,” Derek suggested. He was eager for a change in topic.

“I think I have done nothing but rest since I took my tumble. Do you think you could tell me something of the history of Taliasin Towers? I am especially curious about the chapel on the hill.”

“The chapel was added by the same architect who built Taliasin Towers but a good ten years afterward,” Derek began. 

Stiles interjected, “It has the matching touchstone over the doorway. A triskele I believe it is called. It that the official Hale Coat of Arms?”

Derek goggled at the man in his arms but Stiles could not see his expression; the man was too smart and observant for his own good. “Yes, it is. Now who is telling this story?”

Stiles grumbled beneath his breath but bid Derek continue.

“My mother was taken by the story of La Bête du Gévaudan. Are you familiar with it?” Derek asked, snuggling Stiles closer.

“I thought I was supposed to hold my silence?” Stiles protested. When Derek gave him a squeeze, Stiles exhaled loudly. “Yes, I am familiar with it. I ran across the story while doing research. I found it amazing that a weapon forged from a steel spindle, seasoned with Wolfsbane, Mountain Ash and blood proved the antidote to killing the beast,” Stiles murmured.

“You believe the story then?” Derek asked, intrigued.

“There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,” Stiles quoted Hamlet to Derek.

It came as no surprise Stiles was well versed in Shakespeare. Nor that he was familiar with La Bête du Gévaudan. Stiles was full of surprises.

Stiles sighed, relaxing more fully against Derek.

“Come, you are tired and should rest,” Derek shifted, preparing to transfer Stiles to the mound of pillows next to him.

“Please, may I stay here just a little longer? You make me feel safe,” Stiles requested.

Derek’s wolf almost came undone at the casually spoken words.

Derek, and his wolf, longed to protect Stiles.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Stiles’s head, Derek acquiesced. “Sleep, Stiles. I will keep watch over you.” Derek vowed. 

-0-

Stiles had returned to his room two days ago and hardly left his bed. His head ached and the tonic Deaton left for him helped with the pain but it made him groggy and out of sorts. Today was the first day he was doing without the elixir. He hoped to spend time in the library later if his body permitted.

He also hoped to dine with Derek.

After splashing water on his face, Stiles left the bathroom, intent on sipping from the piping hot cup of tea Erica had delivered to him moments ago. 

The cup of tea was no longer on the bureau, his notes for the library having taken its place. 

Stiles scanned the room. He paced to his bed and looked at the side table— _The Castle of Otranto_ was missing and in its place was _Northanger Abbey_.”

Stiles’s knees weakened and he sank to the hardwood floor, head hanging low between his shoulders, confused and depressed.

At first Stiles had thought the misplaced items in his room were on account of his being distracted by his job but he had no such excuse now. He was well rested and the physician had cleared him of his injury so he could not blame this on his wound.

His mama had suffered from a catastrophic illness when Stiles was still a boy in short pants. He remembered the illness began with misplaced items and progressed to forgetting names and ultimately forgetting everything.

Stiles was deeply afraid. He had nothing going for him except his mind and if he were to lose it…

At least Stiles had been able to indulge his affection for another. He would miss Derek terribly, grieve over the lost possibilities, but ultimately he could not subject the other man to what was to come. That was assuming Derek would have even wanted to pursue a relationship. The man continued to blow hot and cold and it was quite frankly making Stiles’s already tender head ache. No, Derek would not miss him for long.

Tears fell from Stiles’s eyes in earnest, slicking his face, the salty residue finding its way into his mouth.

Stiles did not want to resign his employment but he had no other choice. If he had any chance of retaining his mind a little longer he needed the familiarity of home with his father and visits from his best friend, Scott.

His life, as he knew it, was over.

-0-

The slight tang of salt wafted through the air, making Derek pause as he walked by the corridor with the guest bedrooms. Currently Stiles was the only occupant down this hallway.

Derek followed his nose right to Stiles’s closed bedroom door. Perhaps Stiles had taken a swim in the ocean and his damp clothing was drying out.

A stifled sob alerted Derek to the true nature of the scent: Someone was crying.

Beneath the salty tang, Derek detected another scent. He could not identify it but it was familiar, like something from his childhood.

Rapping on the door, Derek called softly, “Stiles, it’s Derek. May I please come in?”

The noise abruptly cut off and Derek waited patiently for permission to enter.

The door swung open and a red eyed, pale-faced Stiles greeted Derek. “Yes, of course. To what do I owe this honor?” Stiles asked, fake cheer in his tone.

Derek stepped into the room and gently cupped Stiles’s chin with his palm, tilting his face upward to peer into it closely.

“What has upset you so?” Derek probed.

Stiles stepped backward, dashing the back of his hands across misty eyes, before answering, “It’s nothing.”

“Stiles, please, something has upset you. Please let me help,” Derek implored.

Arms crossed over his middle protectively, Stiles shrugged.

Derek slowly drew Stiles into his arms and hugged him, nuzzling the side of his face into the soft hair on Stiles’s head.

This gesture seemed to break the young man’s spirit and Stiles began to sob almost soundlessly.

Holding the young man close, Derek rocked him back and forth, trying to sooth him.

When Stiles began to hiccup his distress, Derek led him to the bed and sat him down. Derek sank down onto the mattress next to Stiles, curving an arm around quaking shoulders, drawing him close for comfort.

“Come now, tell me what is amiss,” Derek entreated. His wolf was positively miserable at the young man’s distress and Derek’s human side wasn’t faring any better.

Sinking forward, bent at the waist, Stiles buried his face in his hands. “I think I’m losing my mind.”

Derek frowned. “Tell me more.”

“My mother, she had a sickness of the mind. She began to forget things she had said, things she had done, and then, finally, she forgot how to be,” Stiles forced out in a halting explanation so unlike his usual witty accounts. “I fear I suffer the same fate.”

“Stiles, please, tell me what has happened,” Derek invited. “I can’t help you if I don’t understand.”

“Help me?” Stiles, clearly agitated, jumped to his feet and began to pace. “I left the _Castle of Otranto_ right there, on the side table, and it is gone. In its place is _Northanger Abbey_.”

“Is it possible you are confused, that you did bring Jane Austen’s book in her by mistake?” Derek cajoled. Stiles’s reaction seemed out of proportion to the situation.

“I think I should know the difference between a First Edition book and this,” Stiles picked up the book and waved it at Derek.

As quickly as Stiles’s emotions flared, they subsided, leaving him pale and shaking.

“What else?” Derek asked.

“My notes appear and disappear by the day, I can’t remember when I take my meals, and I only want to sleep,” Stiles recounted. “I think I should return home before I become a burden.”

Derek didn’t know what to think about Stiles’s appetite or sleep disorder but there was a possible explanation for things mysteriously moving about.

Rising to his feet, Derek grabbed Stiles’s hand and towed him out the door into the hallway.

“Erica! Boyd! Isaac!” he bellowed, as he pulled the passive Stiles in his wake. “In the solarium now!’

-0-

Stiles’s head was spinning. It could have been because he had forgotten to eat today but it was most likely because Derek, after a month of paying him no mind, was manhandling him.

If Stiles hadn’t kept his feet moving, Derek might have dragged him, as he seemed must intent on reaching the solarium.

Derek gently eased Stiles into a chair before turning his attention to the door where first Erica, then Boyd and then finally someone Stiles recognized from home—Isaac Lahey.

“Isaac? Scott will be most pleased to know you are okay,” Stiles rambled, pleased to find his acquaintance safe and sound. Isaac had disappeared from Beacon Hills shortly before Scott’s troubles began and his best friend had been most distraught about it. Stiles had never been close to Isaac, in fact the two only seemed to argue when in Scott’s presence, but Stiles had certainly not wished ill treatment upon the other man.

“No one can know that I’m here,” Isaac snarled.

This was the Isaac Lahey that Stiles was accustomed to interacting with—moody.

“Is it because you’re a werewolf? I assure you Scott will not care,” Stiles tried to smooth Isaac’s ruffled feathers. 

The room was exceedingly silent and Stiles realized everyone, save for himself, was standing there agog.

“Was I not supposed to acknowledge that fact? I do apologize, Satomi told me Derek would accept my circumstances but I was trying to be respectful. You didn’t discuss it so I didn’t want to bring it up,” Stiles quietly explained. He didn’t like being the center of attention.

Erica recovered first, her mouth snapping shut. “Your circumstances? Stiles, you are a human, through and through.”

“Well, yes, I am. However, my best friend Scott was attacked shortly after Isaac left Beacon Hills and when strange symptoms manifested I sought out books that might shed some light on what was happening to him. I was able to piece together he had been infected by a lycanthrope but Scott quickly found an anchor and all is well,” Stiles explained as succinctly as possible. 

Boyd tilted his head to his side. “How did he find his anchor?”

“I suggested he find something—a person, place or thing—that brought him a measure of peace and focus his attentions on that when he felt, um, unsettled,” Stiles described. “Fortunately he found something that worked and his shifts became less unpredictable.”

Derek was staring at him, eyes shining brightly, teeth exposed in a full smile. “You’re quite remarkable, Stiles.”

Stiles didn’t feel remarkable. He felt like he was floundering and in need of assistance.

Derek’s nose crinkled and then his expression changed to one of concern. Walking over to Stiles, he knelt on one knee and took Stiles’s hand between his own. “It’s okay, love.”

Stiles didn’t believe him. 

Turning his head, Derek glared at the other occupants of the room. “Which of you has been using the secret passages to play tricks upon Stiles?”

Erica and Boyd looked baffled but even without enhanced werewolf senses Stiles could see Isaac flushing.

Isaac hung his head but didn’t respond.

“Isaac, what were you thinking?” Derek growled.

Isaac’s head snapped upward and his eyes glowed a pretty golden brown. “I wanted to scare Stiles away before he discovered our secret.” Hanging his head again, guiltily, Isaac whispered, “But he already knows our secret.”

Laughter burst out of Stiles’s mouth without warning. It took a moment to gain control of his wavering emotions but when he did, he gulped for air, before asking, “So you used a secret passage to sneak into my room and move things around, either hiding or leaving items so I would doubt myself?”

“Yes,” Isaac answered, sullen. “I did not want to hurt you, only scare you.”

It didn’t matter to Stiles that Isaac had waged a campaign to send him packing. He was not losing his mind. That was all that mattered.

Climbing to his feet, startling Derek who rose to his full height, Stiles flung himself into Derek’s arms. “Everything is okay now.”

-0-

Derek was displeased with Isaac’s antics but he at least understood why the shifter had taken such measures—he only wanted to protect his pack. It was difficult to fault someone for such behavior.

Stiles seemed to be on an even keel, content to stand in the circle of Derek’s arms.

With a wave of his hand, Derek dismissed his pack members. They all trooped out of the room, Erica winking as she closed the door.

“Derek, are we ever going to talk about horse riding?” Stiles burrowed against Derek’s front, clinging until their groins meshed together.

“Horse riding?” Derek gulped. Stiles had been drugged, he couldn’t possibly remember Derek’s whispered words in the heat of passion.

“Is that something else I’m not supposed to discuss?” Stiles pulled back, staring into Derek’s face. His eyes were still bloodshot, his face overly pale, but to Derek he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“I didn’t know you heard me. Stiles, I apologize for my actions that night. I have certain needs and I have an understanding with someone in the village and,” Derek’s words were smothered as Stiles pressed his lips against Derek’s.

Drawing back, Stiles smiled at Derek. “Please do not apologize. I have dreamed of our time together.”

Derek’s wolf strained to break free. 

Stiles tilted his neck to the side, exposing a bare swath of skin.

Derek threw Stiles over his shoulder, arm pinning long legs at the bend of knees, carrying the young man swiftly from the room.

Making his way upstairs, Derek headed for the master bedroom. He threw open the door only to bang it closed in haste.

Bending at the waist, Derek slid Stiles from his perch and laid him on the bed.

Eyes sparkling, face flushed, Stiles was so alluring Derek couldn’t wait any longer. Stiles knew the truth. He could put his doubts behind him now and revel in the other man’s attentions. Stiles’s anxiety regarding his health had been removed and he seemed eager to celebrate.

If Derek had his way, he and Stiles would consummate their feelings for one another like this every day. 

Stripping out of his own clothing, flinging them on to a chair in the corner of the room, Derek was surprised to find Stiles was already struggling out of his own clothes.

Between the two of them, they managed to gain Stiles’s freedom from the restrictive material and soon Derek was licking bare skin. The oil he kept nearby made an appearance and soon Derek’s fingers were stroking inside of his lover.

Derek left his feet on the floor but leaned against the pillows strewn against the headboard at an angle. Keeping the young man facing away from him lest he accidentally see Derek’s true nature and become alarmed, Derek lowered him in to his lap.

His swollen member sank into the warm core of his lover, the young man groaning. “More. Please,” he keened out.

Flexing his hips, Derek pushed upward. Soft hair rolled against his shoulder and Derek’s eyes sought the flash of pale skin on the exposed neck.

The base of Derek’s penis began to swell and he gave in to his wolf’s urges. His teeth lowered, his face shifted and his claws unsheathed.

The young man in his arms moved restlessly, moaning.

Derek stilled, afraid he’d hurt his lover.

The scent wafting into his nostrils was lusty, not fearful.

“Ride me,” Derek growled, embarrassed at the sub vocal noises he emitted.

Stiles flexed his inner passages, submitting to Derek’s demands.

“Please, I need,” the man pleaded, air gusting across Derek’s neck in a warm caress, “something. Inside of me.”

Pushing past the ring of muscle guarding the entrance, Derek’s bulbus glandis slid inside the man.

“Oh, more,” Stiles wiggled in his lap.

More? Derek would give him more.

Hands cupping below the man’s bent thighs to hold tightly, Derek rose to his feet.

“Ahhhh,” Stiles sunk farther down upon Derek’s shaft. “There.”

Derek took a step forward, unable to contain himself, needing to move.

“Oh,” the young man whimpered. Derek tested the air again, confirming Stiles was still in throes of passion and not pain. “I want more.”

The comments regarding horseback riding came to Derek and this time there was no reason to slow their love play.

“I would have you on horseback, each time the horse took a step in its natural walk would feel like this,” Derek punctuated his words, growled through his teeth, with two steps. His hips swayed with each step, pushing him inside the tight heat. It was a four-beat movement hard to replicate on two feet but his attempts felt marvelous.

“Yes,” Stiles breathed out, his head tossing against Derek’s shoulder. 

“Next the horse would trot,” Derek announced, trying to replicate the steady two-beat movement. It was difficult to sustain the suspension of the gait, springing upward to achieve that moment in mid-air. His hands gripping the young man’s thighs helped him to post up and down.

“Ye-es,” Stiles’s volume rose. 

Derek could feel the flush of heat coming from the younger man’s body. His thigh muscled tightened, indicating his impending release.

Moving to the edge of the bed, Derek perched himself hastily, his hands moving from beneath Stiles’s thighs to cup his raised, tight balls.

Derek didn’t want this interlude to end and tried to stave off the other man’s discharge.

His own cock divulged a spasm of semen, his body twitching in sympathy.

The young man cried out, shuddering, clamped down upon Derek’s length.

Bright lights exploded behind closed lids but Derek squeezed the delicate skin in his hands; Derek’s own orgasm, could and would, last thirty of more minutes with his bulbus glandis engaged.

The tight flesh pulsed in Derek’s hands but his efforts were too late and Stiles’s long cock disgorged its release. “Ahhhh!” he cried out before going limp in the circle of Derek’s arms.

Satisfaction rumbled through Derek’s wolf. He had just fucked the sweet thing in his arms into a dead faint.

Derek was just a bit disappointed; he wanted to try cantering and galloping to see what brought his lover the most stimulation not to mention himself.

Easing back on to the bed, Derek shimmied upward until his feet were off of the floor. Claws angled away, his fingers caressed the broad shoulders, skimming down slightly protruding ribs to rest on the small waist. Stiles needed to eat more. 

His palms slid upward, mindful of his unsheathed claws, seeking out the twin tight nubs of flesh standing erect on his lover’s chest. Derek ever so slightly scraped the tip of a nipple with his sharp claw.

The man in his arms groaned and shifted.

Derek groaned and shifted.

Bliss.

-0-

Stiles awakened, unsure of the cause. He was much too comfortable and did not wish to be disturbed.

“Derek,” Boyd’s voice called softly accompanied by two sharp knocks on the bedroom door.

“Shhh,” Derek hushed the other man softly, his arm curled tightly around Stiles.

“I am awake,” Stiles mumbled into his lover’s shoulder.

Huffing, Derek rolled away and Stiles felt the chilled air settle around him without the other man’s warmth.

Stiles admired Derek’s naked form; he couldn’t believe his good fortune.

Derek pulled the door open. Stiles couldn’t see his face but he could hear the scowl in his voice. “What is it?” His tone at least was reasonable.

“We received word from the village. There’s an emergency and they’ve requested the Lord of the Keep,” Boyd replied.

“What is the nature of the emergency?” Derek probed even as he pulled on his undergarments and trousers.

Stiles levered himself up on an elbow, pulling his blanket more securely about his body. He now had a view of Boyd, concern etched on his face as well as Derek’s glorious, still-naked back.

Boyd shrugged in response to Derek’s question. “It was a young boy, ten years of age or so. He wasn’t very coherent and he took off as soon as he blurted out his message.”

“Fine. You and I will go to the stables and saddle some horses. The sooner we’re away, the sooner I can return,” Derek decreed.

With a nod of his head, Boyd disappeared into the hallway.

“I’m sorry, my love. I’ll return to you as soon as I can,” Derek crooned, palming the side of Stiles’s face. “We have much to talk about.”

“Godspeed,” Stiles replied, leaning up and pressing his lips against Derek’s. He couldn’t wait until Derek returned; he wanted to discuss their situation as well as further explore other things.

Derek seemed content to thrust his tongue tenderly into Stiles mouth. Stiles leaned into the kiss but Derek settled his hands on Stiles’s shoulders and set him back. “I must go.”

Before Stiles could say anything further, Derek drew his arms into the sleeves of his shirt before he exited the room.

Stiles rolled out of bed and entered the bathroom, taking his lantern with him. He rinsed off, doing his best to freshen up. When he felt somewhat clean, he exited the bathroom, settling the lantern next to his bed. A glass filled with a clear liquid sat on the table next to his bed.

Stiles went to the door and looked into the hallway, expecting to find Erica but no one was about. Closing the door, Stiles returned to the bed.

Picking up the glass, Stiles inhaled but it smelled like the tonic Doctor Deaton had dispensed for him previously. 

Shrugging, Stiles downed the contents of the glass. His nerves were on edge, the results of an emotional evening. Perhaps now he could settle down and wait for Derek’s return without wearing a hole in the rug from pacing. He would have to thank Erica in the morning for her thoughtfulness.

Setting the glass atop the table, Stiles frowned when he misplaced it and it tumbled to the floor, shattering upon contact.

In his bare feet, Stiles knew he needed to attend to the glass right away. He leaned over his bed, picking up his discarded nightshirt, pulling it on. There was no need to shock Erica. Trapped in the folds of the linen, Stiles fought for freedom.

Once his head popped through, he found himself panting from the exertion.

Something was amiss.

Stiles reached for the bell-pull next to his bed but became exceedingly woozy.

The room tilted on its axis and Stiles sprawled across the bed.

“There, there, little spark. I will take care of you,” a voice whispered in his ear as something was pressed over his nose and mouth. The fumes made his eyes water.

Stiles shivered. He wanted to fight but whatever was on the cloth sapped what little energy he had left.

His vision exploded in a supernova of bright light before he tumbled into darkness.

-0-

Derek gave Camaro his head, allowing the horse to pick his own trail to the village. He could not imagine what emergency required his presence at this late hour but as he was responsible for everyone on the premises, he made haste.

As Camaro wheeled into the cluster of cottages, a man flew out of the first cottage. “What is it Master Hale?”

“What do you mean? I was told there was an emergency here and I came as quickly as I could to see to you all,” Derek frowned down at the man, vexed.

The other cottage dwellers emptied into the courtyard.

“What is amiss here that you required my attention?” Derek called, sternly.

“Everything is as it should be, Master Hale,” another gentleman assuaged him.

Derek insisted on being shown into every cottage to assure himself everything was well. 

“I apologize for interrupting you,” Derek tried to infuse his tone with a convincing air but he was put out that he had been called away from his lover’s side for what amounted to a joke.

Everyone thanked him for his attention, offering him a late supper, but Derek made his excuses. He yearned to snuggled Stiles in his arms. Maybe do other things to the young man.

The timing of this joke was odd. Derek began to worry that he had been lured away from Taliasin Towers for malfeasance. His pack, and lover, were at risk.

Camaro galloped back up the trail, and all the while Derek stewed and worried.

Isaac met him in the stables. “Is everything aright in the village?” Isaac asked.

“They had no need of me. It was a cruel prank,” Derek snarled.

For once Isaac did not challenge his authority or gainsay him. He bent his head meekly.

“Do not fret so, pup. Stiles has forgiven you and although I do not approve of what you did, you were trying to protect your pack and for that I cannot complain,” Derek comforted the younger man, squeezing his shoulder. “Is everything as it should be here?”

“As far as I know,” Isaac responded promptly.

“Stand guard over the stabile until I give my word if you please. I fear something is amiss,” Derek assigned this task to his youngest pack member.

He was away to the house before Isaac could respond.

Erica and Boyd met Derek at the door. “What is the trouble?” Erica asked. She was wringing her hands and the gesture was so unlike her, Derek found himself more on edge.

“There was no trouble. I was called away in error. Is Stiles safe?” Derek pushed past Boyd and Erica, intent on getting to Stiles.

“Tucked up tight in his bedroom,” Boyd answered.

“Please guard the front and back entrances. I do not like this,” Derek said as he ran up the stairs.

Derek barely knocked on Stiles’s door before he pushed into the room.

Stiles was not in his room.

A glass sat on the mantle, the dregs of something medicinal and vile smelling tickling Derek’s nose.

Derek ran back down to the stairs to find Erica guarding the front entrance. He grabbed her by her arms to gain her full attention. “Did you give Stiles a glass of the tonic from Deaton?”

“No!” Erica exclaimed. “Stiles said it made him feel funny and he would rather his head ache.”

“I think someone has taken Stiles. Do not let anyone into the house except Stiles or me. Do you understand?” Derek barked as he let her go and ran toward the back entrance.

“Of course!” she called out.

Boyd was at the ready when Derek appeared at the back of the house. “Stiles is missing. I fear he was drugged. I am going to search the grounds. Do not let anyone but me or Stiles inside,” Derek clasped the other man’s shoulder before he ran into the night.

A storm was brewing in the distance and Derek hoped it stayed over the sea and did not move inland. He needed to track Stiles’s scent and that would be near impossible in a storm.

Derek let his wolf out, his snout elongating and enhancing his sense of smell.

There. Moving up the hill. Both the dreamy scent of Stiles and the one Derek recognized from long ago.

Loping along on two feet although his wolf urged him to shift to four, Derek pounded past the chapel. With a burst of speed he pelted across the range toward the area where he had found Stiles draped across the tree trunk.

Lightning lit the sky, a natural spotlight pinpointing Stiles’s location. Stretched across the cursed tree trunk, lashed down with ropes, Stiles shivered in his white nightshirt, exposed to the elements.

Standing over Stiles, partially shifted with sharp claws at his lover’s neck, stood Derek’s Uncle Peter.

Uncle Peter was Derek’s childhood confidant. A man who Derek had been told had perished in the fire along with Derek’s parents and siblings.

Peter was most definitely alive, not dead.

Lightning flashed overhead again, gaining in strength and proximity, thunder clapping loudly.

The side of Peter’s face was scarred horribly, the side of his mouth rucked up in a parody of a smile.

“Come no closer, nephew. I have need of this spark,” Peter called out, tone jovial. “You see I have been waiting for a special spark to come along and once I have spilled his blood in the ritual, drained the poor thing dry, I will finish healing.”

His uncle was alive but he was mad.

“Move away from the human, uncle. I would speak with you,” Derek called out. He tired to keep the revulsion from his tone.

Peter smirked and if it had not been for the disfigured face, the expression was so familiar Derek would have never doubted he was facing his childhood friend.

“I think not, nephew. Do not come closer lest I end the spark’s life right now,” Peter threatened.

There was no reasoning with his uncle. Derek completed his beta shift, clothing bursting at the seams as his body changed shape, as he bounded across the distance, tackling the man.

“You will not have him. He is mine!” Derek growled.

-0-

A loud clap of thunder jerked Stiles awake. He lifted his arm to rub the sleep from his eyes only he found he could not move.

In fact he was quite uncomfortable.

Rain began to pelt his exposed skin and Stiles shivered against the wet cold.

As lightning crackled overhead, Stiles looked down and found he was in his flimsy nightshift, staked out on a…tree stump?

Something growled to his side and Stiles squinted into the darkness. Another flash of light illuminated two bodies, wrestling on the ground. Derek and another man.

Someone—Derek—loomed over him and Stiles saw his shifted face.

Beautiful.

Suddenly Stiles could lift his arms and he reached out, rubbing his fingers down the ridge of brow to the end of the snout.

His wrist was grabbed albeit gently. “Stiles, run!”

As the other werewolf ran into Derek, pushing his aside, Stiles rolled off of the platform, his feet moving as soon as they hit firm ground.

Derek was fighting for his life, for both of their lives, and Stiles had to do something to aid him.

The spear! 

Stiles sprinted toward the chapel, ignoring the stabbing pains incurred as his bare feet slapped against all manner of debris, saying a silent benediction to the triskele over the peak of the entrance.

The spear was perched upon two ornate sconces jutting out from the wall.

Stiles expected to be shocked, or worse, when his hands closed around the steel but he exhaled harshly, in relief, when nothing happened.

Holding the spear in front of him, Stiles charged back out into the storm.

Derek needed him.

-0-

Derek pushed Peter off of him, rolling to his feet. He wished he could say it was a smooth roll but he was feeling every injury wrought by his uncle’s practiced fighting style.

A sound caught his attention and Derek turned his head.

Stiles bolted toward him, holding something out in front of him.

Derek opened his arms, urging Stiles to run into their protection.

With a look of pure terror on his face, illuminated in the bright flash of lightning, Stiles sprinted past Derek. The spike from the chapel was clutched in his hands.

It was madness!

Peter made a grab at Stiles, claws rending the back of the nightshirt but not catching the human as he dodged past.

Stiles appeared to be taking wing as the torn material flapped behind him. He resembled a picture Derek had once seen of Archangel Michael, weapon in hand, charging into battle.

Rising up on his hind legs, Peter flexed his shoulders and roared his frustration.

Derek’s feet carried him toward his lover, intent on protecting Stiles. His wolf demanded it, fury driving him forward, even as his human side worried for the fragile human.

Yanking his hand back, Stiles let the pike fly.

In another brilliant flash of light, Derek saw the weapon strike Peter’s massive chest.

Only unlike the story of La Bête du Gévaudan, the beast didn’t fall.

Peter charged forward as Stiles pin-wheeled backward.

Derek caught Stiles around the waist and lifted him off of the ground, swinging him around, planting himself in front of the younger man.

The only things standing between Peter and his prey were Derek and the massive tree trunk.

Peter jumped atop the flat surface, beating his chest. “I am the alpha!”

_Flash-bang!_

Covering his eyes at the blazing light searing across his retinas, Derek howled as his ears rang from the thunderclap directly overhead.

A scream unlike anything Derek had heard before wounded his already tender ears. For a moment Derek was afraid Peter had caught Stiles but the younger man had plastered himself to Derek’s back.

Peter was aflame, a human torch, running aimlessly in his pain. He made to jump off of the cliff into the water below but before he made the edge, he staggered and dropped, a smoldering pile of cooked flesh.

Derek could barely stomach the smell. He curled his arm around Stiles’s waist and dragged the younger man into the shelter of his body. Stiles quivered in his arms, turning his back on Peter, and burying his face in Derek’s chest.

Once he was certain Peter was no longer breathing, Derek took stock of the human under his protection.

Stiles drooped against Derek, knees giving out. The trembling had stopped but on this hellishly wet, cold night the lack of shivers meant Stiles’s health was at risk.

Derek kept his arm around Stiles’s back while his other arm lifted behind bent knees, sweeping the younger man into arms.

Bedraggled from the rain, bruised from his fight with Peter, Stiles lay pliant in Derek’s arms.

The wind, already howling the storm’s fury, kicked up even more. Derek wheeled around and ran for the back entrance between the chapel and the nearest tower, intent on getting Stiles to safety.

It took minutes Derek was not certain he had but at least they reached the entrance. Boyd, alerted to the commotion, swung the massive back door open and welcomed them inside.

“I need Deaton, now!” Derek barked.

Boyd headed out into the night, making for the stables.

“Erica, I need towels and warm clothing brought to my room!” Derek yelled out as he ran up the stairs, once again Stiles clutched tight to his chest.

The night seemed never ending but until his love was safe, Derek would endure it.

-0-

Stiles was warm, comfortably so. He stretched his limbs, making a soft mewl of contentment.

“Stiles? Please, you must wake up!” Derek entreated him.

Derek. His love. 

It was so nice to lie abed and just be with the one he loved.

“Stiles, please. I beg of you. Open your eyes,” Derek’s voice pleaded.

Stiles was not against hearing his love begging but not while he tried to sleep. Begging was better suited for other endeavors. 

Forcing his eyes open, Stiles winced at the brightness. “Derek?” His voice was scratchy, his nose congested. 

“Finally,” Derek breathed out, his hand shaking as he reached for Stiles’s hand, clasping it tightly between his own. Derek chafed the hand lightly and some of Stiles’s discomfort eased.

“Are you attending to my pain?” Stiles asked, throat still clogged and sore, producing a rasping noise.

“I am,” Derek sat next to Stiles. “I have been so worried.” Derek’s other hand fiddled with Stiles’s hair, creating and then smoothing out elflocks. The gesture was infinitely soothing and Stiles found himself drifting.

“Please, Stiles, how do you feel?” Derek asked, jiggling Stiles’s shoulder when he did not answer immediately.

Apparently he was not going to be allowed to sleep. “Help me up, please,” Stiles appealed to Derek as he held his arms out.

Derek, ever so gently, eased Stiles upward until he was resting against a mountain of pillows.

It took a moment for dizziness to recede but Stiles looked up and found Derek staring at him intently, biting his lip, a smile broke over his face. 

“Oh, Stiles, I have missed you,” Derek whispered as he gathered Stiles’s sore body carefully into his chest, rocking him softly.

“I am here, love,” Stiles consoled. “Have I been away?”

Stiles tried to remember what had happened.

_Oh._

Scrambling backward, Stiles peered up at Derek. “Did you stop him? The other werewolf?”

“You stopped him, Stiles. It was my Uncle Peter. I thought he had perished in the fire that claimed the lives of the rest of my family but he somehow survived. He has been living in the secret passageways of this house for years. Until you arrived,” Derek rubbed the back of Stiles’s neck and he wanted to purr in contentment.

At until Derek’s words sunk into his befuddled brain. “Me? What did he want with me?”

“I think Peter was mad and he thought if he killed you, his scars from the fire would heal. It is Peter who overcame you and dragged you outside of the chapel,” Derek tugged Stiles back into his chest, rubbing a long line up and down Stiles’s spine.

“And it is you who rescued me,” Stiles said before he pressed a kiss to the side of Derek’s neck.

The man holding him growled and Stiles could not hold back the peel of laughter.

Derek set him back so he could stare into Stiles’s face. “You are not afraid of my wolf?”

“Of course not. You are one and the same with your wolf. You would never hurt me, ergo, your wolf would never hurt me,” Stiles declared. 

“You are exceptional, Stiles Stilinski. Would you do me the honor of living with me here in Taliasin Towers?” Derek stared into Stile’s eyes, his beautiful hazel eyes glistening with emotion.

“I would, Master Hale,” Stiles readily agreed, throwing himself into Derek’s muscular chest, relaxing into his strong, protective arms.

Stiles had never imagined he would find his love when he accepted the position at Taliasin Towers. The job itself was a dream come true but now Stiles could not imagine living anywhere else, doing anything else.

Derek’s voice box rumbled next to Stiles’s ear and Stiles grinned.

He could not wait to spend more time with Derek and his wolf.

 

Finis

**Author's Note:**

> I started in a different direction with the gaslighting prompt that featured a modern romance gone wrong but once the idea of trying my hand at a Gothic story took root I went with it and I had so much fun writing this. I hope you enjoyed it as well.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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